Showing posts with label Animal House. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Animal House. Show all posts

Friday, March 06, 2015

ON THE AVENUES SPECIAL EDITION: Adam's rib tips.

ON THE AVENUES SPECIAL EDITION: Adam's rib tips.

A weekly web column by Roger A. Baylor.


In a response to yesterday’s column, in which I discussed the movie Animal House in the context of our forthcoming mayoral race in New Albany, a reader made an unflattering analogy, comparing the incumbent mayor to Flounder by way of Dean Wormer’s admonition: “Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life.”

I disagree with this characterization, and to explain, please permit me to propose a different theory to explain the past three wasted years.

But first, an interesting episode from Imperial Russian history.

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It was the year 1905. The war with Japan was going badly for Tsar Nicholas II, and there was social unrest on the home front. Revolutionaries of many stripes sought to co-opt workers and peasants, and often, the alliances were cynical, with the revolutionaries perfectly willing to wield the masses as human shields in pursuit of their greater aims.

Amid poverty, illiteracy and ignorance, many of Russia’s peasants still viewed the Tsar with reverence, seeing him as their “Little Father,” one endowed by God with a heartfelt concern for the well-being of his people, yet unable to address obvious evils and inequalities through no fault of his own. Rather, he was prevented from seeing the problems owing to the venality and corruption of functionaries and intermediaries at the royal court.

How might the oppressed move past the tight cordon of self-interest, so as to tell the Tsar what he so desperately needed to know?

Finally an Orthodox priest named Father Georgi Gapon seized upon wintertime hunger and disaffection to write a petition intended to be conveyed directly to the Tsar, bypassing the underlings, and asking for the Tsar’s help in redressing the grievances of the peasants. A very large number of unarmed, ordinary people peacefully marched to the Winter Palace to present the petition.

The Tsar looked on with a shrug, and the petitioners promptly were attacked by police, resulting in a massacre known as Bloody Sunday. Twelve years later, the Romanov dynasty was toppled by the Bolsheviks, who bloodily settled accounts. It was a story later told not by Walt Disney, but Warren Beatty in his film Reds, which I heartily recommend.

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Now, to the real point of this digression: When grading the mayor of New Albany, think less of Flounder’s grade point average than fraternity chapter president Hoover’s: Four Cees and one Eff. That’s because you’re only as mediocre as your handlers.

What if Jeff Gahan has been chosen as “best available figurehead,” an amiably willing pawn content to be advised by those operatives fancying themselves as Democratic Party power brokers?

In short, what if Gahan is Adam Dickey’s ongoing laboratory experiment?

When you look at the aim of Gahan’s dubious “quality of life” expenditures; the enhanced monetization of government activity for the sake of fundraising; the outsourcing of social media as perpetual campaign fodder; the behind-the-scenes-edict style of “governance” by the appointed, by-passing the elected council unless either a rubber stamp or shared responsibility is needed – all of it adds up to Gahan-as-cabal’s-puppet more so than the mayor as master strategist.

In fact, the mayor seems oblivious to it all, benignly drifting through his term as though unaware that a real world exists outside the bubble he’s allowed himself to be defined and surrounded by. Incredibly, he actually seems to believe he is venerated by the unwashed masses.

This is why our ongoing “mayor as mere hologram” theory isn’t too far off the mark. Undoubtedly, Gahan has been enticed to cooperation by being told that the future payback for (in effect) serving as the appointed Dickey’s elected stand-in is a bright future in statewide politics. Just one more term can he, too, can be Ed Clere or Ron Grooms.

To understand Gahan’s time in office, one first must consider Dickey’s view of himself as latest in a line of best and brightest disciples of the current New Age party line nationally.

He’s attended the seminars, read the e-books and savored the Kool-Aid, and now Gahan is his pet hamster on a spinning wheel, with the overarching notion being the retention of municipal power for the purpose of redistributive largesse, though not to the “little people” formerly comprising the DemoDisneyDixiecratic Party’s bedrock, but rather to whichever segments of the regional economic oligarchy currently are in need of deep greasing beyond what the Republicans already apply before breakfast each morning.

It goes without saying that such a methodology of governance need never be bothered with the demeaning annoyance of standing behind strong principle or stated platform. Vague and amorphous platitudes will do just fine – right, George Orwell?

Gahan’s term as stand-in also makes little sense without acknowledging the centrality of Disney to Dickey. After all, apart from Walt’s fascistic and anti-Semitic leanings, what was he if not a master illusionist? There’s always an impression of what might seem like real life, but only for an instant. When the house lights come on, it’s all revealed to be a trick of the puppeteer -- just like the engineering papier-mâché otherwise known as the Main Street “improvement” project.

Remember the Alamo? I’d prefer we just never, ever forget Main Street.

Dickey probably thinks that we, as untutored provincial dullards, can’t ever see past the glimmer and sparkle of his Magic Kingdom, past the underachieving shadows, into the very heart of vapid. He may be right, but I hope not.

Granted, it’s Gahan’s name on the dotted line, and it’s his ultimate responsibility. But you see, Adam’s a bright boy! Gahan remains entirely disposable, while the Machiavellian weaver of intrigue lurks in the gloaming, always the biggest fish in the smallest pond, plotting the next move on the chessboard of self-advancement.

You can’t fool Senator John Blutarsky, because New Albany’s curse is far less the footprint of Gahan’s ambition than Dickey’s.

The good news: At least we can fire ONE of them in November.

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Recent ON THE AVENUES columns:

ON THE AVENUES: It's just like when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor.


ON THE AVENUES: As Admiral Gahan steers his Speck study into the Bermuda Triangle, crewmen Padgett, Stumler and Caesar grimly toss all the rum overboard.


ON THE AVENUES: Upscale residency at down-low prices.


ON THE AVENUES: Street “sweeping” epitomizes the degradation of governance in New Albany.

Thursday, March 05, 2015

ON THE AVENUES: It's just like when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor.

ON THE AVENUES: It's just like when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor.

A weekly web column by Roger A. Baylor.


A recent, pointless exercise on social media asks us to name a movie we’ve seen one hundred times.

For me, it’s a baffling question, seeing as amid the breathless ubiquity of movies and film culture in America, I may be the only living citizen desperately attempting to suppress a yawn.

Insofar as I took time to watch movies at all in 2014, The Grand Budapest Hotel stands out as particularly enjoyable. There may have been a half-dozen or so others. Granted, I enjoy certain genres, primarily foreign films and documentaries, but that’s about it.

While I’ve listened many hundreds of times to my favorite albums, it’s almost unimaginable for me to have watched a movie more than one or twice. However, there are exceptions, and the one springing immediately to mind – perhaps even surpassing the century mark -- is National Lampoon’s Animal House.

Before I’m upbraided for lowbrow tendencies, permit me to note that no less an authority as Dr. Murray Sperber, an internationally respected academician best known as Coach Bob Knight’s one-time arch-nemesis on the campus of Indiana University, has looked to Animal House for deeper social meaning.

In Beer and Circus, Sperber’s seminal masterwork, he held that the drunk, rambunctious and oversexed crew of Delta Tau Chi offered a dissolute fictional vision of higher education -- bottomless keggers, willing coeds, togas, Hawaiian shirts, optional sleep, grudging perusals of course materials only moments before the final – that actually never existed in reality. Art influenced life, providing America’s colleges and universities with a perfect strategic coping mechanism

Specifically, Sperber charged that for decades following the 1978 release of Animal House, Big Time Universities knowingly enticed students not with learning, but with the twin recreational lures of party culture and NCAA athletics, hence his “Beer and Circus” aphorism.

Consciously echoing ancient Rome, it was a ploy by which students were distracted from realizing that their chosen institutions had failed to provide them with a quality undergraduate education.

Major universities, coveting lucrative governmental and corporate funding that rewarded success in higher-level academic research, employed the best, highest-paid researchers, whose research load precluded them from teaching undergraduates, who in turn were increasingly in need of intensive, remedial resources not applicable to top-flight research programs.

The cash flow of undergraduate tuition funds remained essential to the whole enterprise, and so undergraduates were shunted into mass lecture halls holding hundreds of students, taking classes commonly taught by graduate assistants or part-time professors. In return for this depersonalized inadequacy, undergraduates were given enjoyable diversions, i.e., cheap swill and spectator sports.

The totemic, drunken, decidedly non-academic John “Bluto” Belushi famously wore a sweatshirt emblazoned with the generic term “College” -- and what could be more collegiate than clocking out Thursday, drinking through the weekend, attending the big game against Tech, partying into Sunday (possibly even Monday) and barely considering one’s ostensible reason for being on campus in the first place until some point on Tuesday - at which time the cycle was ready to begin anew.

It’s incredible.

Animal House single-handedly created a cultural facet so destructively injurious that even now, three decades later, whole sub-cultures of reformers and do-gooders spend lucrative careers seeking to eradicate the menace of fraternity drinking, even as the money in big-time college sports spirals completely out of control (see Arena, Yum!).

C’mon -- can your favorite movie do that? It shows that I sure know how to pick ‘em.

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D-Day: War's over, man. Wormer dropped the big one.

Bluto: Over? Did you say "over"? Nothing is over until we decide it is! Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no!

Otter: [whispering] Germans?

Boon: Forget it, he's rolling.

Bluto: And it ain't over now. 'Cause when the goin' gets tough... [thinks hard] the tough get goin'! Who's with me? Let's go! [runs out, alone; then returns] What the fuck happened to the Delta I used to know? Where's the spirit? Where's the guts, huh? "Ooh, we're afraid to go with you Bluto, we might get in trouble." Well just kiss my ass from now on! Not me! I'm not gonna take this. Wormer, he's a dead man! Marmalard, dead! Niedermeyer -

Otter: Dead! Bluto's right. Psychotic, but absolutely right. We gotta take these bastards.

(snipped)

Bluto: We're just the guys to do it.

D-Day: Let's do it.

Bluto: LET'S DO IT!!

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This most inspirational of cinematic passages, at least in my lifetime, occurred to me earlier in the week when it was reported that Jeff Gahan, New Albany’s hermetic mayoral incumbent, has amassed a $95,000 war chest going into municipal elections this year.

That’s big money for a small city. Is the race already over?

It might be interesting eventually to study the itemized list, although the total shouldn’t surprise anyone. New Albany’s budget has increased by strangely untold millions since Gahan took office, and the public trough has been tapped early and often for various construction and patronage projects. This City Hall clearly performs triage at every decision-making juncture: If it can’t be monetized to ensure the requisitely metaphorical post-coital-cash-stuffed handshakes, it tends not to happen.

Probably this is the primary reason for the ongoing lack of traction for walkability and street reform. People merely walking and biking provide far less lubrication for future political campaigns than automotive interests – or fear mongers. The usual suspects are baffled at unpredictable paybacks, hence feet are dragged as they await the proper formula for the ritual wetting of beaks.

For an independent mayoral candidate like me, Gahan’s surfeit of cash has the potential to be daunting. As yet, I have no campaign funds, as in absolutely none, and it remains my intent to ask for no more than $20 per donor once the fundraising effort begins in earnest. That’s 4,750 contributors just to reach Gahan’s current total, a number so astronomical that I could not have determined it without a calculator.

But I’m not discouraged. In fact, I’m oddly serene. That’s because I believe that words have meaning, and while City Hall might be flush with the fuel of DemoDisneyDixiecratic machine politics, it is at a decided disadvantage when it comes to the marketplace of ideas – where its collective GPA is lower than Bluto’s.

Not only that, but nothing gets the competitive juices flowing quite as much as being the underdog. It may require an unconventional effort … and we’re just the guys to do it.

When’s the Harvest Homecoming parade this year?

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Recent ON THE AVENUES columns:

ON THE AVENUES: As Admiral Gahan steers his Speck study into the Bermuda Triangle, crewmen Padgett, Stumler and Caesar grimly toss all the rum overboard.


ON THE AVENUES: Upscale residency at down-low prices.


ON THE AVENUES: Street “sweeping” epitomizes the degradation of governance in New Albany.


ON THE AVENUES: Got spa? Time for CM Zurschmiede to reel in the years.

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Isn't this an indictment of our entire American society?


Did you know that searching for the word "beer" on the Floyd County (Indiana) Health Department's web site yields zero results?

At any rate, having heard nothing back from the department since delivering NABC's appeal early last week, I thought I'd look on line for the Floyd County Health Department's board of director's meeting schedule. Maybe if we're not invited, I can attend anyway, perhaps in a gorilla suit.

I found the board's meeting schedule on the second Google hit, complete with an updated agenda and much useful information.

The only problem is that the page I found is from the health department's board in Floyd County, Iowa.

Not the most communicative of bureaucrats, are they?

Updating the Floyd County Health Department's "Beer Pour War" of 2013.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

Your choice for exclusive Bicentennial Gala coverage -- now with pictures.

(Updated on Sunday morning because I forgot to append the ending)


Downtown New Albany was all abuzz last night, because it was the long-awaited Bicentennial Gala. Despairing of the future, the city looked instead to its distant past to celebrate a time when women couldn't vote and minorities were third-class citizens -- in short, New Albany's good old days.


Attendees partied like it was 1899.


The Grand was decked out as never before. According to some of the revelers, the  watercress sandwiches were the best they'd tasted since the administration of C. Pralle Erni.


Just down the street from the party, NA Confidential's staff downed Progressive Pints and pondered whether it would be worth crashing the party. Then we had a great idea.


Someone needed to say it, and well, why wait for the Harvest Homecoming parade when there was a far better occasion, right now?


With two-way streets, we could have gotten there quite a bit more quickly.


"I hate those guys," said Dean Wormer.


But before the NAC Deathmobile even reached the Grand, Bill Allen's building finally fell down, and he was given a Pillar Award by Develop New Albany for painting the rubble.


And that's your white bread Bicentennial moment for January. We'll be back with the rest of the story once the coast is clear. Like maybe 2014.



Thursday, November 25, 2010

Today's Tribune column: "The bell tolls for thee, Bluto."

... in which I conceptually travel from "Animal House" to Murray Sperber, from Bob Knight to Bridges Authority nabobs, and end on Black Sunday, 1905.

BAYLOR: The bell tolls for thee, Bluto.

... I think about this inspirational passage each time a bridge toll apologist explains the rosy inevitability of a tax/toll increase to float the massive loans necessary for animating an exorbitant three-legged Bridges Project that virtually no one in metro Louisville wants. We're full circle, back to Coach Knight's controversial advice: “If rape is inevitable, relax and enjoy it.”

Sorry, but I can't.

It has been far too instructive documenting the gyrations of local elected Republicans, who either speak in code, asking us to believe that in the absence of a referendum, an involuntary toll imposed by an unelected body is a “user fee,” not a tax, or clerely have nothing coherent to say at all about their support of taxing-and-spending to finance an outdated bridges boondoggle, after they just completed campaigns stressing platforms of opposing taxing and spending to finance anything else ...

Wednesday, November 03, 2010

Primary season is right around the corner.

D-Day (Bruce McGill): War's over, man. Wormer dropped the big one.

Bluto: Over? Did you say "over"? Nothing is over until we decide it is! Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no!

Otter (Tim Matheson): [whispering] Germans?

Boon (Peter Riegert): Forget it, he's rolling.

Bluto: And it ain't over now. 'Cause when the goin' gets tough... [thinks hard] the tough get goin'! Who's with me? Let's go! [runs out, alone; then returns] What the **** happened to the Delta I used to know? Where's the spirit? Where's the guts, huh? "Ooh, we're afraid to go with you Bluto, we might get in trouble." Well just kiss my *** from now on! Not me! I'm not gonna take this. Wormer, he's a dead man! Marmalard, dead! Niedermeyer -

Otter: Dead! Bluto's right. Psychotic, but absolutely right. We gotta take these bastards. Now we could do it with conventional weapons that could take years and cost millions of lives. No, I think we have to go all out. I think that this situation absolutely requires a really futile and stupid gesture be done on somebody's part.

Bluto: We're just the guys to do it.

D-Day: Let's do it.

Bluto: LET'S DO IT!!

(From "Animal House"; cribbed on-line)

Monday, April 12, 2010

Guardian comentary: "The Republicans are like frat boys in Animal House."

I wouldn't have looked to "Animal House" for analogies, but if the shoe fits ...

The Republicans are like frat boys in Animal House; Reckless, anarchic and strident, the American right is living in a parallel world where fear and rage drive out the facts, by Gary Younge (Guardian).

... On the one hand there are the Blutos – characterised by their contempt for even the most basic facts. Their assertions are often not only verifiably false but patently ridiculous. The very people who claim that Obama is a Muslim were the ones who fumed about his relationship with Reverend Jeremiah Wright, his pastor in Chicago. Muslims don't have pastors. Last year the Investor's Business Daily claimed that if the renowned scientist Stephen Hawking were British he would be dead: Hawking is British and alive.